Tales from Behind the Bakery Door by Joe DeRozier

Have you started thinking about Christmas, yet?

If you're like me, you'll wait until the last minute and then have to scrabble around trying to find gifts and stocking stuffers that don't look like...
... well, that don't look like you waited until the last minute and had to scramble around.

My books from the "Tales From Behind The Bakery Door" collection can be a quick and affordable solution.

Six short story collections that blend humor, wit, and heart, while exploring themes of family, friendship, military life, and more.

1. I Don't Know... I Just Make Donuts
2. My Dog Pees When Company Arrives... I'm Glad I Don't
3. Of the 2971-Mile Trip... 75,000 of It Was Nebraska
4. One Day... Your Advice Will Also Be Ignored
5. The Pond and Wet Clothes... I Can't Stop Smelling Them
6. Sometimes Therapy Is... Just Good Friends in an Abandoned House

 (This is a pre-order and won't be available in print until April '25)

You can purchase the books from me directly for $10 (Paperback) or $13 (Hardcover) plus shipping. I can accept PayPal, Venmo, or for those long in the tooth like myself, a check.

or

You can order them through Amazon.
Contact Information
Email: joederozier@yahoo.com
Website: joederozierbooks.com
Facebook: @Joederozier... I just make donuts
Amazon: (Tales From Behind the Bakery Door)
https://a.co/d/2BVrluU

Joe DeRozier

The Donut Man and Led Zeppelin

You may have noticed that when I get overwhelmed--or lazy--I beg invite friends to join me here. They have tons of information to share, are funnier than I am, and present a new view through the smudged glass of the Window Over the Sink. This week, Joe DeRozier's back. Thanks to him for coming and for sharing what he calls his ramblings. See you next week--unless another funnier, smarter friend shows up - Liz 

It's dark... I'm tired...

I grab the mountain of paperwork from the passenger seat, climb out of the car, then go to the back seat where I put the bag of garbage that Kat left for me by the back door.

I throw the garbage in the dumpster, trying to stay aware of where my keys and important papers are so as not to pitch those in there as well.

I wish I had a dollar for every time I had to climb in that dumpster to retrieve my things. I used to fling myself up on the side, check for racoons, then jump in. It's harder now. I get a ladder if I can...things sure change...

I unlock the bakery door and walk in to pitch black. It doesn't really matter. I KNOW this place better than anywhere. Besides...my eyes are still closed.

It's seven steps in, and slightly to the right at about 45°. More than likely there is a rack there. At chest level there are light switches on the east wall. I hit those and there's an instant flood of light. It takes a second to adjust my eyes.

I look at the freezer temp and the condensation pump for anything that needs immediate attention.

All good…

I grab a 50lb cube of shortening. They're not as light as they used to be. I fill the melter, check temps, then start my prep work.

I check my phone for messages. Most people contact me through Facebook, so the only messages are usually telemarketers. Salespeople used to stop in and ask for my dad because I looked so young...that doesn't ever happen anymore.

Actually, while I'm thinking about it, salespeople never come in...or donation people. They call or message. They'd do better getting off their phones and stopping in...maybe I'm just getting old...

I get the first 85 lbs of dough ready to mix. I roll racks, move boards, put away dishes, get the proof box ready. I scan the bakery to figure out what I've forgotten to do. There's always something.

I forgot to scale cake donuts...

I head to my office, a.k.a. “the cave,” and fire up my computer, where I print out my "donut bible" and the invoices.

I start my dough, then head back to the cave to do more paperwork.

The dough finishes and I throw it on the table―well, I USED to throw it on the table. Now I roll it as close to the

table as I can, assess the situation, pick it up and say a quick prayer.

I'm still strong enough... it's the pain...

I have 10 minutes to let the dough proof...

This is the best 10 minutes of the day... I have coffee... I sit down by the table. I'm alone, with Led Zeppelin playing in the background. It's quiet...

I think about my family... I think about my dad, a lot. I wonder what wonderful things will happen with my kids. How long will my wife put up with me? Will her eyes lock in the "rolled" position?

The timer goes off. My coffee is cold.

It's 3:30 am, now.

I create some donuts. I'm slow at first, then get into a rhythm.

Mason and Michael come in. They always come in to help. We talk. Some about business, some about Peru. Our wives/girlfriend (Mason's girlfriend is my daughter, April, so he has to say good things). Politics, weather... we make fun of each other. We fry, fill and ice, and pack up the donuts.

Ed Stuber from Main Street Market picks his donuts up just as we're packing them. They're still warm.

We get everything cleaned up. Mike and Mason eventually leave.

People from the other stores come in. There are brief salutations...nothing more...It's quiet again for me. I try not to fall asleep. I have a few hours to wait until I start all over...

The time comes...I start my dough, this time knowing there will be about 300 pounds. I'll only mix and cut these, but no one else is here. I see customers in the storefront and store workers going back and forth... of course, they're too busy to bother with me...

I'm around a lot of people, but I'm alone, really.

Just me and Led Zeppelin playing in the background...

...most ordinary men...

"Dads are most ordinary men turned by love into heroes, adventurers, story-tellers, and singers of song." - Pam Brown

I invited people to share father stories with us here at the Window to celebrate Father's Day. Happily, there were too many stories for one day, so I'm going to have posts each day until we're done. I have a few of my own to share. If you have more to add, please send them to me or just add them in comments. To all the dads and everyone else who does their jobs--a lot of moms!--thank you and Happy Father's Day!

Thadd Flaherty

My father-in-law's birthday was two days before our wedding anniversary. One of the last things he said to me before he passed away in 1991 was that I was the  best birthday present he ever had. Dad was always a charmer. I can't say we always got along splendidly--we disagreed on virtually everything--but he charmed me every day. I still miss him. - Liz Flaherty

Dale DeRozier

Whomp...whomp...whomp... What is that? Whomp..whomp... I'm trying to sleep.

Whomp...whomp... It's so early. I can't be mad because people are out. Whomp..whomp..... It sounds so...happy. I'm smiling... Whomp....whomp.

Dale and Joe DeRozier

My dad used to play basketball with me in all weather. Cold northern Wisconsin mornings... below 0º. Snow. We had 3 basketballs. When it's really cold, the ball will freeze and not bounce. I would run inside, grab a fresh ball that was sitting on the heat vent, and we'd keep playing... Whomp...whomp.

It would be dark....Dad and I would still shoot. Hook shot from the free throw line while looking at the garage. I can't see the hoop, but it sounds like it went in....your shot, Dad. Whomp..whomp.... It's pouring rain. Mom is mad because we look silly. I can't look up at the basket because of the water. Dad is drenched. His glasses look like an unwiped windshield...he's laughing Whomp..whomp... One more shot, Joe Joe. Then we have to go in...but you have to make it! Whomp...whomp...

I miss my dad.... I'm glad I can hear Mr. Dawalt playing with his grandson.. Whomp.....whomp............ – Joe DeRozier

William, Shirley, Don, & Deloris DeWald

My dad left this world 55 years ago. Way too soon. I miss him and I think of him often. 
He was a farmer and he was there at home all the time. I am so thankful for the 17 years I had with him. I started helping him when I was a kid just like all farm kids did years ago. We had time together doing the morning and evening milking.
He taught me to hunt and fish. He played ball with me and we went to games together. He taught me a good work ethic. He taught me to believe in myself.
I liked to hear his life stories about growing up on the farm and farming with horses. It was the same farm where I grew up. That always made it extra special. He also had sermons about life and appreciating every day.
In the summer after he woke me up he would go out on the back steps and drop his shoes on the steps and sit down. That sound was my signal to hit the floor and get moving. That was the case on his last day at home. We were getting ready to bale hay that day and it was hot. He had a heart attack that morning. Before mom took him to the hospital he called me over to the car and said, "I will be back in a few days." The next morning he had a fatal heart attack and died.
When I think about him I think about how he lived and not how he died. I wish we could have just one more day and he could see me now. But I am so thankful for the time that we had and all the happy memories. – Don DeWald

Theron (Buck) Comer

Theron (Buck) Comer

My dad was in charge of a POW camp during World War II for a short time. He had this German officer who was being a real pain. So he made him stand on one of those big vegetable cans at the gate and salute all the privates and such that were coming in the camp. He was punishing him like a child. - Beth Comer Jones

Herb Everett

One of the best things I learned from my dad was how to avoid boredom. When I'd complain there was nothing to do, my dad would give me three suggestions. Two ideas were always fun things he knew I'd enjoy, like ride my bike or read a book. But the third idea was always a chore, like clean the bathroom or iron some clothes. I learned to choose quickly and with no complaint, or else dad chose for me. Dad passed away a few years ago but he taught me well! - Peggy Emard

Get Up, Get Dressed...Joe DeRozier's Here

Joe DeRozier makes doughnuts. And fritters. And things with Bavarian cream in them. And braids--he talked about his braids so much his daughter asked him to stop. Just the mention of a pastry he's made makes my mouth water. I've never met him, although I've grinned at him through the door behind the counter in Aroma, the coffee shop on Broadway in Peru, and he's waved back. But I love his writing, so I asked him to do guest posts sometimes. He didn't say yes. Or no. But finally he said I could cut and paste from Facebook if I wanted to. So this morning that's what I've done. He and I hope you enjoy it. And if you're ever in Peru, Get Up, Get Dressed, Get DeRozier's. Thanks, Joe.

I'm in bed by eight pm.
My alarm goes off at 12:01 am. 
Why 12:01? I refuse to get up for work the same day that I went to bed.
I get up, hit Snooze, get back in bed. My puppy growls at me. I wonder for a second whose bed it really is.
I swear I just laid my head on the pillow. My alarm goes off, again. I hear my pup give a loud sigh. That makes me laugh. 
My right ear is bad now. Too many years of hearing the mixer on my right side. WHAP, WHAP, WHAP.
If I lie on my good ear, I can't hear the buzzer.... I should have slept on the good ear.
I wonder if I could set my Keurig in the bedroom. I could hit a button and have coffee before I get up.
Kathy said, no. I don't know why I don't insist. I bet I can beat her arm wrestling.....well, two out of three.
I get up and navigate the stairs. I'm still not real sure since the stroke. Kathy calls it my "episode".
"Episode?" When did I turn 100 years old?!
I get ready for work.... I should say, my loose interpretation of the word, work.
I get to go to the bakery!

I get in my car, and drive down East Fifth. I'll be moving soon, so this very familiar drive will change. That will be sad.
I get to the stop sign and come to a stop.
Why do I completely stop? It's one am. I don't know... I just always do.
I get to the light on Fifth and Broadway and get ready to turn right. The light is always red. I look both ways. No one is out..... no one is ever out.
Sometimes I feel alone.
I turn, then go down my alley. My alley...haha. It SHOULD be my alley by now. I've driven here so, SO many times.
I go to park. I see life! They've been drinking. I keep my head down and get inside.
There's this feeling in here.... I can't explain it, or define how it makes me feel. Almost a completion....or sigh of relief.... that's not it...not entirely.
What will I ever do in my life when I can't do this?
I get a bit choked up thinking about it.
My friends talk about retirement and what they want to do.
But I want to do this.